i_speak_softly | Luceti Appointments

[Robert can tell that there's something on the Turtle's mind, now. The way Don gets this kind of... clouded expression - hard for Robert to put into words, but it's like his focus isn't entirely there.

He sits there quietly for a moment, before gently pressing into Don's side instead. If Don doesn't want to talk about it for now, that's okay.]

... I ought to... make us some food, in case the power g-goes out... [He says it almost conversationally, though he's not really worried. He more wants an excuse to feed Don.]

[Don moves away, just slightly - his bruises are still tender, and being leaned on doesn't do them any favors - and looks out the window. The weather has gotten fiercer since he last paid attention to it, and he wonders if it might cause worse damage than a power outage.]

[Robert doesn't really catch the slight motion here, but as he leans away as well to stand up, it ends up not mattering very much.

He picks his words carefully as he's faced away.]

... I was thinking of... something l-light. [As though the idea were purely for his own benefit alone. (Robert is not any good at disguising his intentions, though, so this ploy is as see-through as air.)] Would you be... a-adverse to steamed rice?

Perhaps even some t-tea... it might be enjoyable to watch the storm if it does not progress too dangerously... [He's never seen a tornado before.]

[Don shrugs, indifferent. Do what you want.]

[What he wants to do is make sure that you don't starve, you silly Turtle.

Regardless, he goes off to the kitchen without trying to look too worried as he glances back over his shoulder. Soon enough, the warmth of steam and the scent of green tea might waft out over to where Don is. Is it tempting enough to coax him into the kitchen proper?]

[Nope. Don just rearranges the blankets and stares out the window.]

[After a long enough period of time, then, Robert will enter the room carrying a tray.

The tray has been arranged with a simple bowl of rice, a pair of chopsticks resting from left-to-right next to the bowl, and a small traditional Japanese cup of green tea. Robert places the tray in front of Don with a small, encouraging smile and sits nearby with his own cup.]

[When Don sees this offering, he doesn't know whether to smile or cry. It's so much like what Leo or Master Splinter would have done for him if he were feeling unwell and needed stomach-friendly comfort food.]

[He avoids the issue by turning away, burying himself deeper in the pile of blankets.]

[That's okay. Robert's not going to push. He just leaves the tray there - doesn't tell Don to eat, doesn't admonish him; just sits there and drinks his tea quietly.

Truth is, he arranged the tray like that - like how his achingly-sharp memory of Splinter and Leo dictates - because he wanted to try to emulate that. He knows it isn't the same, but he wanted to try.]

[It's so close it hurts - as though his father or brother were just out of sight in the kitchen, instead of infinitely far away.]

[Under the covers, Don might be crying a little after all, silent and invisible.]

[It might be silent and invisible, but Robert is still worried by that, that closed-off-ness. It's familiar behaviour because it is so frighteningly close to his own.

His expression softens, and eventually he puts his tea down, shifting a little closer to Don. He's not entirely certain if he should try to touch the bundled-up Turtle on the couch, but something tells him that Don doing this isn't very good.]

[Under normal circumstances Don would be able to sense this approach, but the combination of emotional distress and physical security have nearly obliterated his usual alertness to his surroundings. He doesn't notice a thing.]

[Robert knows from experience that sneaking up on Don is a Bad Idea. So instead of going to touch him, he instead murmurs, loud enough to be heard but hopefully not loud enough to frighten.]

... Don... a-are, are you alright...?

[No, he is not all right. A small noise of distress, and then Don stands abruptly. The tray somehow vanishes under his blanket, and he escapes into his room, closing the door behind him.]

[... Oh.

Alone in the suddenly-oppressive room, Robert sits silently, not even able to summon the composure necessary to stand and follow Don.

Instead he stares at the tea. The surface is rippled with just the barest hints of Don's movement still stirring it. A part of Robert fancies that Leo might've put it down, or something equally inane.

He's not really sure when he starts crying, but it must be happening, because his face is wet.]

[It's sometime early in the morning when this lengthy spiel appears in Don's journal, in the clear, measured print of the scientist behind the pen.]

Exactly two years ago, Hamato Donatello, you returned from a fifteen-day spate of thought and meditation in the mountains, in order to establish your feelings on our then-newly-initiated relationship - amongst other things. It was then, on that date, that you ascertained that you did indeed desire a relationship with me.

[Something Robert will be forever grateful for, at that.]

This is a verdict that I safely regard as one of the most unequivocally-fantastic decisions that has ever been made for me. It is one that has been a consistent force of positive change in my life in Luceti, despite its many difficulties in communication, discrepancies in worldview, and deviations in logistics. Though I must confess that I never expected to love someone quite like you - indeed, I never expected that I would ever come to love someone in this way again, or even expected that I would be desired once more - I am altogether grateful for the opportunity to have done so.

From you and your family, I have learned much that no educational facility in Terra could, or would, ever teach. I learned of the joy of familial bonds; I learned of the hardships of poverty, of the cruelty that my species is capable of when it reigns unchecked; I learned that violence is not always the realm of the barbaric and that "martial art" is not an oxymoronic phrase.

[A poignant, thoughtful pause, and then:]

Most importantly, I have learned that no matter how strange I am - how different I am perceived to be, either here, or at home - I can be loved. I can be with someone who truly cares for me, and it is not a singular opportunity. It is even possible that I can make mistakes - that I can fail to understand - and this does not make me unworthy of such love.

I could not learn that before. Perhaps I was unwilling; perhaps I was simply unable. Whatever the case, it was you that imparted this knowledge - and much, much more - to me. I thank you deeply, for every isolated datum that has ever been imparted to me. It has all been precious to me. You are precious to me.

As I wrote two years ago, so shall I write again: Kararbo, I love you, more than I can effectively express. I treasure every moment that this place gives me with you.

Perhaps one day its permanence will be a guarantee. For now I only am glad to have had this, in this multiversion; in this moment, I am with you, and I am happy.

Thank you, Don, for everything you are.

Edited 2013-03-15 05:53 (UTC)

[Robert hurts.

He isn't sure what's worse, really - the constant pressure of the hangover still deadening his system, or the emotional brokenness that's come from the past few weeks... but either way, he hurts. How long has it been since Don's been taken? It feels like an eternity ago even if it was less than a month.

The man sits up, pressing himself against the back of his bed like it's the only thing stopping him from just collapsing, and just focuses on staring at his hands for the moment, keeping himself grounded as best as possible under the circumstances.

Which is precisely why he is in a relatively-prime position to notice what happens next...]

[Don sits up a moment after Robert does. He's been dozing lightly all night, keeping his senses open for any change in his partner's alcohol-soaked slumber - not that there would be much he could do about it.]

[In his intangible state, he can lie on the bed but doesn't make his usual dent in the mattress. It still feels comfortable, though, so he doesn't notice when he suddenly fades back into his normal state of existence.]

[He just sits, watching Robert with a mix of anger and exasperation layered over genuine care and love.]

[...

Robert's eyes go wide and staring, deer-in-headlights-esque, as he suddenly sees Don right in front of him.

He doesn't trust his own perception right now, broken as it is, so his first instinct is to rub his eyes under his glasses and refocus, almost comically peering at Don through the lenses like they were somehow affecting his vision despite them being plain glass. But the ephemeral ninja does not disappear - he is still there, defying logic with his sudden reappearance.

And he does not look happy.

Very, very softly - as though perhaps waking a slumbering beast:]

... D-Don...?

[Don just blinks at Robert for a moment, before this registers. He looks down, then back up.]

... Robert?

Y-You... [Robert really can't believe that this just happened, even after everything in Luceti that he's seen. He knows that kidnappings have been brief before, and that drop-offs can be short and even smooth, but this... this is beyond the pale. Are the Malnosso capable of teleporting their victims now?

Hesitantly, Robert reaches trembling fingers out, like he doesn't really trust that Don is there yet.]

You are... ... b-back...? But... but how... [How did it happen so quickly?]

[Don immediately puts his own hand out, twining his fingers with Robert's and squeezing tightly. It feels so good to be able to touch something.]

I've been here for days. You didn't notice.

...

[The reality of this hits Robert like a transport tube pod at full speed. Don's... been here? And his alcohol-and-hallucination-addled consciousness wasn't even capable of processing that on any level?

A shudder goes through his body, and though he clutches Don's hand just as tightly, his hand is clammy.]

I... I never s-saw...

I thought I was a-alone... [How much of his private hell did Don see?]

You were drunk.

[Don presses Robert's hand to the mattress and drops it, obviously furious in his own quiet way.]

[That answers the unspoken question. A small anguished sound escapes Robert, some muted noise of pain and shame, but he doesn't respond to that even as he curls forward and shuts his eyes.

What could he even say to defend himself? It's true, he's been in a dark and drunken haze for altogether too long.... It's the longest he's been wrapped in oblivion since Don died.]

Luceti Appointments

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[March 14 | Written Letter to Don's Journal | Filtered 99%]

[June 15 | House 55 | Early morning]

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